


Push and Pull

by rabiosareads



Series: A Saturated Sunrise [2]
Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Attempted Assault, Attempted Kidnapping, Blood and Violence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Praise, Regret, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, praising, protective din djarin at your service!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24228568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rabiosareads/pseuds/rabiosareads
Summary: The Mandalorian, deep down inside, prided in himself to be the best in the game. He was calculated and quick, like a rattlesnake to prey, ready to strike.But this time he was too late, too slow. Now he's picking up the pieces of his mistake.
Relationships: The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV) & Original Character(s), The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Saturated Sunrise [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1748806
Comments: 12
Kudos: 72





	1. Condensed

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: these events are post Sweet Supernova!

Sometimes Mando would catch himself staring at her. Not a stare that would last a few seconds and then his attention would focus back to the blurring tresses of space, but a stare that would burn a hole in his brain. A trickling gathering of images, slips of her perfectly pouting lips and doll eyes, threatening to control his dreams. At times his breath would hitch, praying to the Maker it wouldn’t translate through the modulator in an embarrassing hiss. He tried to make quick glances, gathering pieces of her face and hair to store into his memories, but that glance morphed into multiple glances and those multiple glances melted into stares. He was grateful for his helmet to make his stares ambiguous and to allow himself to cock his head a certain way to fool her into believing he was just doing the exact opposite of his intentions. Earlier that day he was sure his stare was obvious as her round cheeks were stained with a sweet pink, his own ears ringing a steady cranberry shade. He couldn’t help it. Just her mere image was intoxicating enough for the foolish Din Djarin. 

She sat in the seat behind him with the child in her arms, who was rubbing his favorite metal ball between his small teeth. Her fingers were rubbing his large ears, smiling at his cheerful chirps, looking out the window of the  _ Razor Crest.  _ At the time Mando’s bones were aching from a rather long and rowdy bounty of a Rodian male who owed an ex Imperial commander a ton of credits. He had expressed to her once that taking bounties from anyone in the fallen Galactic Empire was enough to make him sick but she knew he was doing it to uphold his own morality, so she shook it off. 

“A job is a job.” she reassured while he nodded quicker than expected. 

She noticed that his anger was slipping the way he slammed the bounty into the wall of the ship, practically breaking the command buttons for the carbon freezing process. The bounty said nothing to provoke him and according to him went willingly and without bribing the hunter but something about his reaction left her questions to linger behind clenched teeth. She jumped when he threw himself in the pilot’s chair, his beskar clinking against the metal, his body so rigid that his muscles barely constricted to pull the lever to lift the ship up to space. She looked down at the child for any reaction but he sat in her lap, content and wide eyed. 

He made no effort to say where he was going or what happened on that assignment. He never asked if she was okay, or if the child ate, or if he needed help with setting the self navigating function while he rested. He let it fester in his belly and continued to stare out into space. 

In simplistic terms, the Mandalorian was tired. Just deadly exhausted. And she should be understanding, correct?

The cockpit’s walls were shrinking between the two of them. The strain between their two bodies was enough to induce a stress headache, the pressure throbbing from her temples to her chin. She noticed that she was grinding her teeth so she opened her mouth slowly, letting the muscle flex in between her temporal bone and mandible and letting a small yawn escape. The yawn hitched into a giggle as the child mimicked her movement. She rubbed his ears as she usually did, letting the velvet skin twitch.

Mando didn’t make any physical reaction to the noise behind him, rather locking his grip against his restless heart. He was going soft, he told himself one night, he never thought the giggle of a woman could make him submit into a starved man. And he was, he told himself once more, mentally smacking his cheeks. Starved of a common connection, of a reason to continue to endless planets and earths to come back home to  _ her.  _ The Mandalorian felt like an idiot but he continued on, gritting behind beskar and tense movements.

She chewed the inside of her cheek at his abnormally erect posture. The groove of his neck cocked at the side ever so slightly towards another control panel, the shine of the steel tilting. He went back to normal position and rested his hands on the lever.

“We’re going into hyperspace.” he cracked behind the vocador, his voice strict and heavy. 

She placed the child back into his crib and sat back. Judging by the way his words were clipped he wasn’t necessarily in the mood to speak. She closed her eyes as soon as the ship pulled back, bile rising up her windpipe. She swallowed back the pending matter harshly and kept her eyes close. She hadn’t noticed that they snapped back into space, the ship at a slow lull.

He rose and walked towards the door. He rested his hand at the back of her chair, flexing his fingers beneath his gloves, watching her neck roll in a circle. His index finger twitched against the seat.

“You okay?” he softly asked, dragging his palm in circles to mimic a back rub.

“Yeah,” she swallowed again then chuckled. “I can never get used to hyperspace.”

She remained face forward. His eyes trailed from the base of her neck to the ridges of her spine, pieces of exposed skin flexing up and down from her stretch. Even as the slight tug of hyperspace kept him grounded he swayed at the closeness of their bodies, her own unaware of his aching elbow dying to elongate to rub her back. He swallowed cotton and grated his jaw when her lashes came into view with the slope of her nose and dip of her bottom lip. She stayed there for a few seconds, eyes lowered and cautious.

For those few seconds, so pulled back and stretched out, her heart pulsating in her belly. Being with Mando on this cramped ship meant that there would be instances where their bodies would be merely inches away however one would think they would get used to it after the occasional pressing of bodies. There was always that slick of unease between the two and it tied their ankles like weights, dragging lower and lower into the bottom of an unforgiving sea, waiting to see who would drown first. It was the helmet, she convinced herself, it was that helmet that held the illusion of a man beneath it but in her vision only held one truth: he was a hunter. The intimidation that screamed off his beskar was enough to make her sick with unease through every marketplace or cantina, but somehow melting away like a slow burning candle when his humanness would slip through. He would rest a hand on the small of her back to push her past large crowds or lower his head, settling against her ear, a voice thick with gravel to reassure her nervous shakes. It reminded her that he was a layered being, underneath the last one lied a man who was just genuine in his human condition. 

It also left behind a burning heat that would linger word after word, carefully crafted to not raise any concern or heighten her sense of awareness. He began to notice it when large crowds would gather in a certain spot or the volume would exceed his modulated exclamation. Through his sensors he saw her heart rate spike rapidly, skin temperature like a fever, and damp palms. He noticed everything, from her hands staying busy in her hair to her knocking knees, and he wondered if  _ he  _ was the culprit. Did he conjure this feeling of insecurity and threat that plagued her body? The question laid in his sore throat, threatening to bubble in a plea, but he repressed that shiver to deepen his whisper in the shell of her ear.

“You’ll be okay.”

She knew that it was a constant sentence that held different weights. She heard it when he would cradle a blubbering child, eyes swollen with tears, as he bobbed its small body back and forth with a hissing reassurance. He said it at times with dripping sarcasm when she would complain about trekking through swamps or deserts, belly aching for water and food, he said it with a stone cold edge when he shoved a bounty into the  _ Razor Crest.  _ But that kind of reassurance was worth its weight in gold. It was a meek command from the intimidating Mandalorian, not only to her but to himself, like the pull of a warm embrace or the sway of a summer wind. It was her mantra and she would echo it back to herself in uncertain times, making sure to mimic the modulation influxes of his baritone voice.

So she pondered on his question a bit more, eyes still faced to the floor. She turned her head slowly to face him and his hand retreated back to his side, still flexing the joints of his fingers.

“Actually,” she bit her the inside of her cheek. “I’m not okay.”

“What’s wrong?” Mando whispered, hoarse and worried.

“I… I don’t know. I just know that I’m not okay.” 

The child sensed it as well so he began to squirm in his seat, puckering out his bottom lip to show his small row of teeth. Her skin burned from his lowered helmet, wondering how his eyes looked behind the t shaped glass. She never had a chance to take a glance but she could imagine that they were pulled down with worry, scanning her frame for a solution. She hoped he would, at least.

“What can I do to help?” He sounded so far away, his exhaustion and words pulled back with careful consideration. He wasn’t hesitant to offer his assistance but this was heavier with her sudden melancholy, like the eyes that searched for his. They began to water but she shook them away, taking a hand to absentmindedly rock the child back and forth who began to fuss a bit louder.

“I don’t know.”

His hand ghosted towards her, resting back on the seat. He didn’t know either. He hadn’t had the time to develop the consideration for others. The only attachment he had was his clan and even then it was out of mutual respect and integrity of his Creed. His human condition called for something deeper, something that was tangible on the days where his soul was dragging itself through the dirt and glass, but he was at a loss. He only knew himself and even then the foreign imprint she left behind was enough to reconsider his identity. He knew that repression and anger was his answer, to slip it out with naive bounties, but she stared at him like an all knowing deity, seeking comfort in the frigid edge of his beskar. He was so certain yet so clueless.

They stayed like this for Maker knows how long, letting their minds circle with hesitant words. He opened his mouth first but immediately clamped them when she sat back, leaning into his barrier between his touch and her skin. She merely saw his helmet dip just a nod, body hard like stone, but his fingers spidered towards her again. The gloved hand rested on the base of her neck, beneath thick hair, his thumb rolling up towards the base of her head. It dipped in the groove and her breath hitched at the warmth of the leather and his skin.

“You should go rest,” Was all Mando could mester from the anxious pit. 

She nodded in agreement but stayed seated, grounding her hips into the hard metal. Almost all at once her unease stroked her mind, skin boiling from the bounty hunter’s stillness. It bought back the slickness of overwhelming tension that had never left since he arrived in her life but this time it bought a fluttering sense of affection. 

“I want to stay here with you.”

She almost couldn’t conjure the sentence from her swollen tongue. Mando’s thumb stopped rubbing her scalp and trail down to the base of her neck, index finger resting at the slope to her shoulder blades. He pulled away slowly and so did she, turning her head to look at the child. He was a bit calmer but still huffed with worry, cocking his head back and forth to stare at her with starry eyes. She listened as he walked away slowly, footsteps awfully careful, even more so when he climbed down the stairs.

Her back sank when he placed a heavy blanket on top of it. He rested his palms on her shoulders, spreading the military grade material across her body, making sure to wrap it snug around her neck. Her hands pinched the front of it and she sank further down in her seat when he took her hair out of the blanket, twisting it in his palm to lay it down her back. Beneath the helmet his mouth was slightly agape, plump and chapped, wishing he had his gloves off to feel the utter softness of her tresses.

“B-better?” he stuttered out, twirling her seat. She looked up at him with smiling lips but sunken eyes, melting in the shifting comfort of the blanket.

“It’s getting there,” she chuckled with reverence. “Thank you.”

Mando merely grunted and sat back down, switching and pressing his buttons to make sure everything was still locked on. They were left with the sweet silence of space, his own body now more gentle and forgiving. He had even forgotten what made him so worked up in the first place.

* * *

The hours dragged on like sap down tree bark. There would be hitches that would disrupt the silence, such as the child’s babble or the ship’s aching frame, otherwise the cockpit was in its usual state. The child now sat in her lap, examining her fingers, while she scanned her eyes on a data pad. She figured she would pick up random facts to keep herself stimulated, such as a planet’s vegetation or its civilian's traditions. She enjoyed the company of the Mandalorian but it was hard to stay interested if he only said a maximum of a paragraph a day. He secretly relished in her bashful demeanor; her granted silence a blessing around his now nervous frame. It was like a kicking wind to a flickering flame, always at edge and always expecting to turn off and leave behind dancing smoke. He felt it in every gulp and cornering thoughts but being the master of concealment he managed to suppress it long enough to keep it professional.

At this point her eyes focused in and out over the digital Basic terminology. A pulsating ache ruptured in between her eyebrows and her fingers pinched the bridge of her nose. She placed the data pad on top of the dash and bounced the child on her knee with her eyes closed. Mando swirled in his seat and cocked his head to the side a bit.

“Tired?” he asked. She shook her head and peaked an eye open.

“Just a headache,” she let out a shaky breath. “The blanket really helped to relax me though.”

“I learned that deep tissue stimulation helps with relaxation,” he began, turning back to switch a button green. “I got the blanket from a fellow hunter when I was on Hoth for a while.”

“Hoth? I can’t imagine being on that planet for long!” 

A sound escaped his lips resembling a chuckle but it was muffled behind the thick material. “Yeah it was. The beskar can only do so much, I had to wear at least three layers of thermal wear.”

She gasped dramatically, fanning herself with a delicate hand. “That makes me so sweaty at the thought! Please don’t tell me we’re going to Hoth.”

“Definitely not. I found a small planet just outside the rim. Dense with vegetation, practically unoccupied.”

She hummed at the image of it. “Thank the Maker it isn’t Hoth.”

The silence fell back once more instead it was buzzing from the quick interaction. Her chest blushed at the sound of his influx voice. In their first few months she was lucky to get two sentences out of him so any resemblance of a laugh was enough to carry her.  _ How childish of me. _

The planet slowly descended in sight, the surface a rich chartreuse and sage, slivers of deep navy blue cutting patterns through the large mass of colors. She placed the child back in his seat and settled her chin on her palm.

“Why are we here?” she inquired with a whisper.

“I figure we need a break.”

“You’re not the type to take vacations.”

“I can change my mind once and awhile.”

Quick like a whip, cracked and haste. She smirked to herself at their small exchange and shifted her jaw, searching for a smart answer to retort back. She faltered at his shoulders rolling in circles, a small sigh escaping his lips.

“You’re tired.” she stated. He placed his hand on the navigating level and pulled forward. 

He pondered on her statement for a bit. “Yes.”

His muscles ached from the suddenly tensed grip. 

* * *

She hoisted the child further up her back as she trekked through the thick layers of the jungle. The thick humidity of the planet’s atmosphere left her covered skin completely damp, her hair curling against her dripping face. She looked behind her at the child, who laid his head on her shoulder blades, peeling the cloth over his head for shade. Ahead of her was Mando, who wielded a laser knife to cut down falling foliage. She made sure to skip alongside pieces of shade for a cooling second.

Again she wished he would sacrifice a few credits to park in a loading zone so they wouldn’t have to trek like this. She even offered what few she carried, to which he would command to keep in case of emergencies, or even bribed him in exchange for meals. Of course he refused; she blamed it on basic chivalry, he based it on his stubbornness and sworn secrecy. Small insects buzzed past her ears and made her wince against her shoulders, placing a hand on the bottom of the child. Her foot sunk into a deep patch of mud so she rested a flat palm against a tree trunk.

“Mando!” she called out. He snapped his head towards her and watched her twist her ankle in her boot. She sent him a meek smile while grazing her tongue on top of her lip.

“What did you do?” he mused, taking careful steps towards her. He held out his hand and she lifted her other leg to balance herself.

“Seems like I got myself into some shit… probably literally,” she joked with a huff. “Hold on a second…”

She tried to jerk her body up while holding his hand but her foot slipped right out her boot with ease. She squeaked, off balanced from holding the child, snapping her grip onto Mando’s wrist. He grunted loudly when her body hit his, slamming her chest against his beskar. Her body heated up tenfold not from their proximity but from the sheer embarrassment of her poor tan boot sinking into the floor. Mando was steady yet strained from her sudden force. She let out a puff of air with a smirk, eyes following down to the base of his helmet.

“Do you mind?” she pointed back at her boot. He huffed at her request and as he wrapped his arm around her waist to hoist her up, she swore her vision swayed along with his embrace. His beskar was hot to the touch yet his grip was considerate, making sure to cup the curve of her waist gently. He held her without any indication that it was difficult and her face remained flushed from the heat and her compromising situation. The child laughed heartily as he swung along with her, dipping his head over her shoulder when Mando bent to grab her boot.

“There.” he heaved her back down, allowing an open palm to steady herself to slip it back on.

“Are we close?” she tried to switch the attention on something else and not on this exchange. He nodded to the right and she looked ahead at a small cantina stationed in the middle of the jungle. She found it a bit peculiar but shrugged it off to the theory that the locals were trying to accommodate their rather inconspicuous clientele. Mando awkwardly slipped out of her grip and continued forward. 

She softly jumped the child back in place and followed suit. Thank the Maker that the building had opened windows and the wood had cracks in between to allow as much cool wind as possible. She dragged her feet along the dry mud floor and searched around for an open booth. As always she kept close to Mando, who was already becoming the spectacle of the establishment. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked without looking back. His hand was on his blaster and his walk was now a slow stride. 

“Just a bit. I have to feed the kid.” she trailed off as the smell of sweet meat in the air. The child sensed it too since he began to whine, his tiny claws digging into the cloth.

“Go find a table.” Mando’s voice trailed off. 

He must’ve spotted something.

She followed suit and found a corner booth, making sure to untie the knots across her chest to lower the child. She made a pile for him to sit on out of view. As much as she loved the adventure that the Mandalorian offered she had a job to do and her job made her sick with nerves. She had grown attached to the green womp rat, with its sweet coos and large galaxy eyes, as well as… Mando. She tried to repress that thought while he offered the child her finger for him to teeth on, but it was difficult. The emotion unraveled in her chest numerous times throughout the months, her mouth and mind craving whatever was under that cool armour. No, she promised that the kid comes first.

“Is that your kid?”

The raucous voice broke her thoughts with a crack of thunder. Her wide eyes looked at the voice’s owner, ears ringing with her anxious heart. The baby continued to gnaw at her finger, focused on the budding irritation in his gums. What made it worse was that the man wasn’t bad to the eyes. Peppered hair, slicked back and shined with a rich gloss, matched his thick mustache. His eyes were a glossy auburn, hidden behind thick lashes, his pink lips tight with a smirk. He easily towered over her, even over Mando, but his sheer size wasn’t the culprit to her stomach becoming an oil slick: it was the smirk he possessed. It held back dangerous quips and seductive whispers. It was his best weapon, she could tell as well from the piercing gaze he held with her nervous one. It curled in the right corner, a dimple crescent in his skin, bottom lip chapped from dehydration.

_ Fuck where is Mando? Where is he, where is he, where is he, where-- _

“Loth-cat got your tongue?” he joked. 

She quickly shook her head, watching as beads of sweat bounced off her temple. She cursed herself for seemingly so bashful and so uncomfortably self conscious at her image. He seemed to read that message from her darting as, following their whipped direction.

“He’s a cute little guy.” he commented. Her breath hitched at his smoky voice, so deep and thick with molasses. 

“Thank you.” she managed to stutter out, still searching for her fated Mandalorian.

“A lady like yourself shouldn’t be alone in a cantina like this.” he continued, raising a leg to rest on the opposite seat.

_ Use your voice, for Gods sake.  _ “A man like yourself shouldn’t be too concerned about what a lady like myself is doing in a cantina like this.”

She beamed at her bravery and ability to not stutter not one syllable. He slapped his knee in a bellowing laugh, eyes licking flames. That quickly died out with a shaking panic slowly building in her chest. Of course he wouldn’t be intimidated by her. He ate women like her breakfast, the demon on her shoulder told her. 

“You’re quick, kid,” he dropped his foot, settling his hands on his hips. “Quick and not bad to look at.”

Pins and needles pricked at her skin. She wrung out her hands, playing and picking around her fingernails. The panic was now burning in deep pools of lava.

“I-Is there anything I can help you with?” she prompted, voice firm yet faulty. He shrugged and sized her up, making sure to linger over her shaky chest and bitten lip.

“You look like you’ve had a journey. You and that kid of yours. Let me get you something.”

She waved her hand. “We’re alright but we thank you for your help--”

“-- No, I insist. He’s going to rip off the meat from your bones any minute and I’m dying to get to know you better--”

“-- No,  _ I’m  _ fine, please--”

“Did you need something?”

And like a deity rising from the mist, Mando planted himself behind the booth. He glided, his hand still remaining on the blaster. In his other hand he slid her a cup of water, to which she gulped with hurried breaths. She watched the two men and took the child closer to her, dipping the cup slowly so he could take his turn. The tension was thick, thicker than the humidity and still heat, worsening as the man gripped his blaster. Mando’s chest stayed still, holding his breath steady and cool, waiting. Waiting just for a reason to blow his blaster clear through his cranium for even  _ thinking  _ of approaching the child and her. The man took two steps closer, looking down at the already towering Mandalorian, gazing at the grooves of his beskar.

“Just making polite conversation, Mandalorian,” he sneered a bit, letting his fingers loop through his belt. Peach skin peaked out from his tunic, spiraling hair gleaming with grey strands. “You are a Mandalorian, right? I’ve never seen one so up close.”

Mando said nothing and remained still, almost motionless. His helmet slightly twitched at his question.

“Usually Mandalorians travel by themselves… what, with their ‘code’ or whatever the kriff you want to call it. But I don’t blame you, bounty hunter, with a piece like that I wouldn’t want to travel by myself either… Kinda breaking the rules, don’t you think?”

“I won’t ask you again.” Mando clipped. The man’s shoulders roll back into a stretch, smirk still burning through her. She felt insignificant between the two men, reduced to nothing but an object between snarling dogs. His gaze trailed to the child once more.

“You look like that underneath that bucket of yours?” he mocked, pointing up with a dirty fingernail. Mando gripped his blaster even harder, digging his boots into the floor. By the cock of his hips she knew that trouble would brew unless he walked away post haste. The man sensed the stress and pulled his finger back, chuckling darkly. “Understandable.”

He said nothing else to the bounty hunter and turned on his heels. She finally noticed that the already quiet cantina fell into a scarier silence. Not even the rocking breeze was in the air, just a stale sense of interest and public display of masculinity. The patrons’ gazes were of curiosity and sparked excitement; they haven’t seen any action in weeks and were ready to snap at the leftovers. She took the child into her arms and rocked him close for her comfort.

The man, back still turned, stopped at the end of the cantina. He rose a hand up and waved, other hand on the door. “I’ll be seeing you soon, pretty girl.”

Her ankles knocked together in an attempt to condense the growling distress. The child sensed this as well and looked at her with worried chirps. Mando turned to her, shielding her from his view. He wanted to take the back of his hand and brush the apple of her cheeks but after that show he couldn’t show attachment. No attachment, no problems.

“You’re okay?” his modulated question was smooth. 

She nodded and looked up at him, swallowing back her unease. “He was so weird.”

“Did he ask about you? The child? Who you were?” Mando didn’t mean to hit her with the rapid interrogation but he needed to ease his own concern, thankful for the armour hiding his desperately angry stare.

“He was just… a really bad flirter.” she concluded, making sure to exaggerate her laugh. The last thing she needed was for Mando to be fixated on someone like him.

But that was just it. He stayed at the door once the food arrived, he stayed while she fed the child first, he stayed while Mando sat back on the opposite end of her, light rays bouncing off the sleek steel. He lingered on, eyes now a deep pool of amber, chest rising with slow breaths that he deliberately controlled. Her damp skin was cold and her fingers remained pinched on the fabric of her pants. She was distressed about the wrong man, the one who held a film of precarious thoughts.

What was worse of all was that the Mandalorian didn’t seem to notice anything. The hot lava simmered in her ribcage. 


	2. True Grit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He should've done better.
> 
> (tw: descriptions of gore/violence, suggestive assault)

She was absolutely convinced that Mando had lost his mind.

He’s had her in shootouts, hiding in between droid parts and swimming through thick swamp waters but this made her loathsome. The night that had fallen on this cantina wasn’t the blue black she was used to back on the _Razor Crest_ , that at least had the billions of stars to provide a soft fixture of light _._ This darkness, so dense and compact, was pure ink. The humidity was still in the air, adding a certain creeping weight to her shoulders along with the darkness. He had activated his infrared stealth vision, thank the Maker, however the lingering doom prickled the hairs on the back of her head. He had an idea of where to lead the trio, outlined by neon forest green shapes, and she had nothing to work on. Just an incredibly stealthy Mandalorian and a fussing green child clutching her chest.

Yes, she concluded, he had gone mad.

Mando, as cool and focused as he could be, led the way with careful steps. Each heavy step that set off cracked wood or the slush of mud made her jump with the child following suit, eyes shut and clamped claws. The dim yellow light from the cantina was her last beacon of comfort. She wanted to slap herself for being so greedy for staying to relish in the coolness of the cracked windows. 

“Stay close,” Mando warned with his pointer finger before they departed. “And hide the kid as best as you can.”

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” she gulped, pressing her arm into his. 

The insects’ song was a high pitched hum that seemed to circle her head with every step. She pinched a piece of his cape and twirled in between nervous fingers. Her damp skin kept peeling off his beskar with every faulty step, muttering apologies, while keeping another hand clutched around the child. She felt guilty at the possibility that she was most likely squeezing him a bit too hard so she gently rubbed his back. 

Moss, or what can be assumed as some type of spongy vegetation, grazed a piece of exposed ankle, her squeal making even Mando jump. Her grip on his cape pulled down and his body jerked down, earning a grunt. At that point her feet were on top of his, finding refuge in between his ribcage and elbow. 

“We’re almost to the  _ Crest. _ ” Mando reassured with a low hum, his tone leveled but with an edge of irritation.

It was becoming more increasingly difficult for him to continue to walk with her heels digging into his boots so he nudged his elbow a bit into the side of her breast. She took the hint, letting go of his cape but settling two digits in the bend of his elbow. Her eyes strained from its widened form, begging to seek any sign of light even from the planet’s moons or stars, however every time she looked up she was only met with the same inky doom. At this proximity he was able to navigate the two of them by steering his elbow left and right to her touch. This awkward dance in the dark served as their own navigation system. Their walk seemed endless, just stretched opaque suspense, led by the anticipation that they would simply rest in the comfort of their cots and forget this odd and terrifying event.

“Maker, since when am I so  _ terrified  _ of the dark--”

The seconds between the click of her tongue and influx of the volume of her voice, she was hoisted up by her waist. She choked at the sudden force, air bubbling between her chest and throat, however she still clutched onto the child. Mando otherwise wouldn’t have any clue to the sudden change of force if it wasn’t for the child who squealed a terrified chirp. He whipped and watched as a tall figure wrangled with her in its arms, its head close to her ear. Every single jerk of muscle felt delayed by a second. The movement was so delayed, so painfully delayed, her twisting ankles wrapping themselves like fighting snakes and her desperate fists punched against the figure. Mando grabbed his blaster before the figure whipped out its own. She gasped his name, desperate and shocked, the child now squirming uncomfortably. 

“I told you I’d be back, kid.”

His head twisted up with such blistering hastiness that it could’ve simply rolled off his shoulders. His raspy voice sent a violent shiver down her spine, solidifying her bones and muscles. She had never felt pure terror such as this, lost and vulnerable. Between the darkness and the red hot man who clearly kept his promise, all she could rely on was chasing down her racing thoughts and simmering regrets. She should’ve not engaged the man, she should’ve left earlier before the planet’s dual suns set, She should’ve stayed on the  _ Crest _ \--

“You know, I thought that all the gossip from the boys was just… gossip. No, I told myself, this couldn’t be the infamous Mandalorian that the entire galaxy is buzzing about--”

“Let her go, we can work something out--” Mando pointed the blaster towards the towering man.

“And this?” he pointed his blaster at the child’s head, her shoulders jerking violently at the tug. “This  _ thing  _ right here? It’s worth  _ so much  _ to the  _ wrong  _ people.”

“Please--” she wheezed out. He wrapped his hand around the base of her scalp and tugged, the heavy metal of the blaster blunting her head.

“ _ Shut it _ . Gods even in this kriffing darkness you sound so pretty--”

“Leave her out of this. Let’s talk.”

Mando watched as his head snapped back to him. His eyes adjusted over the stilled image and he observed his face, obnoxiously covered with cheap night vision goggles and a sick scowl. His body remained planted into the dirt, slightly sinking into the marsh, but his eyes were blown out with every single intense emotion: red hot anger, a tremendous ripping of the heart, the sick pump of adrenaline throbbing through his veins. He weighed out all of the outcomes, measured every single angle that he held her in, but there was no way the shot could be clean. The heat from her body skyrocketed with every movement against his. She remained like a sack of sand in his arms, only displaying panic across furrowed brows and bitten lip. 

“You’re trying to negotiate Mandalorian?” he grimaced.

“I’m trying to reason,” he flipped his gun up to show submission. “Whatever the kid is worth I can pay you double. Even more. There’s no reason to get hostile.”

The man watched as Mando’s pale green form twisted to put his blaster down to the ground. For a minute the blistering atmosphere choked their lungs and the universe watched this ordeal. The man placed his lips on the conch of her ear, inhaling her sweat ridden hair and taking a long drag of his tongue to the cusp of her earlobe. Mando’s stomach leapt with anger once more.

“What do you think?” he asked her, relishing in her terrified form. 

She snapped back to the reality in front of her, tongue running back and forth behind her chattering teeth. She looked forward at what she assumed was Mando, tuning into any sound that was familiar and comforting. She hoped that he was being stealthy, blaster now pointing in the back of this devil’s head and pulling the trigger with no remorse.

“Don’t hurt the baby.” she managed to slur out, hot tears gathering at the corner of her eyes. 

By the tightening of his chest, she tensed up at the possibility that he considered the truce. His lip remained against her earlobe, breath steady and steaming against already scorching skin, then dragging themselves her sideburns and hairline. She shuddered at the sensation and he loosened his grip around her. His hand that bruised her ribcage danced along her stomach and to the child, who was oddly silent. Mando’s hand twitched upwards, ready to trigger his Whistling Birds. 

“Come get the swamp rat.”

She kept her grip on the child and listened in to the heavy dragging on deep vegetation. She dug her skin on top of the child’s head for reassurance and comfort. Her energy shifted at the goosebumps on her skin from the familiarity of cooling beskar on her wrist. She looked up, eyes wavering and gulps of tears spilling finally. Mando stretched out his hand, helmet facing her but eyes drilling into his. Her fingers twitched against his palm and he pulled closer.

“Hand him to me.” Mando softly commanded. She nodded and slowly pried each finger open, allowing him to take the child. She was impossibly immobile so he had to tug at her forearm. The child, unaware and desperate, fussed in his arms but settled quickly at the embrace. 

“Mando, I’m--”

The man aggressively yanked her body up and she began to scream with a high pitched whine. She tried desperately to kick  _ anything  _ to gain traction and pull herself out of him, just like Mando taught her but she was met with the thinning air. The devil growled a laugh in the crook of her neck, wolf teeth gnashing at the throbbing vein. He settled her body horizontally against her, legs still jerking with hopeless vigor, her arms now stretched out to beckon Mando.

“I could give a fuck about the kid,” he shrugged, blaster back to pointing to Mando’s direction. “Or your fucking credits. It’s not about what you can give me, it’s what I can  _ take. _ ”

He threw a ball into the air which ignited a blinding white light. Mando winced at the sight, hand on vambrace, but everything that had transpired afterwards was a blur of ringing white noise and racing blood. Her cries were no inconsolable sobs, cursing the man and punching the dark. He jerked her on his shoulder and whipped past monkey brush vines.

His Whistling Birds were too slow. They were faulty, he was convinced. One too many went too far left when they should’ve tilted to the right. He should’ve kept his blaster in his hand. He should’ve done better. 

* * *

Mando had to remind himself at least four times that he secured the hanger’s door and the child inside. He nearly twisted his ankle mid run at the thought. He tried to piece together the action, hands shaking at the adhesive but it was to no use. The jungle seemed to drag on and on like an endless runway and it made his stomach tangle with the mess of vines below him. He felt no air welcome his lungs nor the weight of the beskar on his aging knees. 

_ “He couldn’t have gotten far,”  _ he thought, grunting as he hurdled a pile of mashed boulders.  _ “That motherfucker.” _

He weighed out the ways he could annihilate this man. He could sneak up behind him and slice his throat with his vibroblades, watch the blood bubble from pleading lips, the thick hot liquid running through the leather and grasping from throbbing muscle. He could use his flamethrower (how easy), shielding her from the licking flames as they cook his sinful skin in a mass of scorched matter, melting his marrow to liquid. He even considered sparing him from it all and whipped out his amban rifle and watched flakes of his being float to the ground and blow away with the humid wind. His hands curled at the thought, tight with anger, wanting to live out all the options if he could. 

The guilt was eating the bounty hunter  _ alive.  _ Nothing so vigorous, so untamed, so baseless with no linear intention had ever coursed through his veins than this. Not even with the child. This was manifesting into something dangerous, something that he buried in the deep pockets of his being and that scared him the most. She’d always joke that he was way too calm to be a bounty hunter of his caliber; that if it was here with the way the bounties would talk to him or her she would’ve been exiled from The Guild on account of her raging mouth. This was true and yet here he was, living the assumption many feared from him. A feral man with foam in his mouth and an itch for insanity. 

He found himself back at the cantina. He tripped into a halt and scanned the area, switching his vision to heat signature recognition. The entire area to the left of him read in blues and greens, slight movements from the dancing vegetation, while the right slurred a slight yellow. He made no attempt to study the moving figure, scanning as it illuminated a mass of red and yellow, until he looked up at it. The bartender stood frozen and his bottom lip quivered from the sudden predator.

“P-Please, Mandalorian--”

“Have you seen a man with goggles? Taller than me, with a young woman.” Mando tried to level his voice and thoughts.

“No sir, but that description is vague--”

“She’s  _ the only woman  _ that entered the cantina, have you seen her?” he barked, the man whimpered at his tone. He shook his head no so Mando bumped past him, back into the tresses of the jungle. It was no use.

* * *

She found it a bit sadistic that he had a fire pit in the middle of an apparent heatwave. She rubbed her bare calves to shield away from the fluttering flames and leaned her head against the hut’s wall. Although her sobs have calmed down they rattled in her chest, her sternum vibrating at high speed. Her tongue felt heavy and slick at the roof of her mouth, her words sticking like glue, and she wondered if she were to scream loud enough that Mando would come in and save the day. As he usually did. And she hated it.

She felt weak and it loomed in the pit of her belly, trickling down to her weak knees. Out of everything that Mando taught her during their down time, the amount of bruises and aching muscles that she had to endure on top of taking care of a child, it just went out the window with the frail kicks she managed to not land. But what struck her mind the hardest was the way that he managed to just… stand there. Just as lost, just as feeble. 

_Now isn’t that the most comforting thing to think about?_ She asked herself while she watched the man pace the hut. He placed his blaster onto a makeshift basket and sat on the dry dirt, facing opposite of both the fire pit and her.

He said nothing but watched her with lowered eyes. The flames casted a shadow across half his face, a crescent darkness on his high cheekbones. She finally noticed a deep scar that wrapped around his neck, the pale rigid texture of his skin jagged across his Adam's apple. His illuminated eye caught her gaze and he chuckled to the sky.

“You looking at the scar?” he inquired, pointing at it. “It’s… it’s a deep one, I don’t blame you for looking at it.”

She said nothing not out of intimidation but curiosity. She let him have his moment by welcoming it with a nod.

“I was in the Western Reaches when I got this,” he began, rubbing the deep tissue. “There was a bounty on my head for killing some important Hutt. Who knows, the credits were absolutely worth it. Anyway his partners captured me, held me hostage, kept a laser rope against my neck and at every inch I took it would dig into me more and more…”He trailed off and noticed she had her lips slightly parted. He chuckled and rose up, taking a lap around the fire pit. 

“This scar right here,” he stopped to stand in front, the fire framing his body like an omen. “Shows my grit. My determination. More than what that  _ Mandalorian  _ could show with that stupid kriffin’ helmet on--”

“So?” she whispered, raising a brow. There it was, that true brash spirit she held behind her bashful demeanor.

“So... what?” His voice deepened with a sharp bass. She swallowed cotton down her throat and took a deep breath out her nose.

“What does your scar have to do with my employer?’

_ Employer.  _ Even thinking of that word made her bask in a veil of what? Shame? Anguish? A tad bit lamented with a melancholic desire? No matter how it came out it always felt so disgusting sliding back down.

He scoffed at her retort. “Your employer hides behind shit beskar and an archaic creed that doesn’t mean Bantha shit in this rim. He doesn’t have the grit.”

She snarled at him, letting a small aggressive groan escape her lips but immediately composed herself at the sight of his crouched body towards her.  _ Don’t allow your opponent to see any reaction from you,  _ Mando’s voice scratched her ears in reminder.  _ You don’t have the advantage to hide it like I do. Showing them fear, anger, any negativity gives them the advantage to control you. Let them be the ones that continue to guess your every move. _

__ She pulled her knees up to her chest to give more distance between them. He dragged his hand over his prickled beard, noticing that her shoulders had stopped shaking. 

Time seemed to drag along like a blunt object across dirt. Her fear hadn’t left over this time, rather letting it settle into the air and cling to her skin. It was accommodating to the situation, merely disguising itself as false confidence. In order to be ahead of the predator once must pretend to be the prey. Let them have the temporary satisfaction of holding you by the slip of your arm and once you snap at the first chance you get, that’s when you know you succeeded. So she did just that, water her eyes a bit and twinge her frown a bit deeper. His face was pallid except a sunburn that crossed his nose and apples of his cheeks. 

“Tell me kid,” he broke the silence. “You ever let him have a taste?”

She fell brainsick, the heat from her embarrassment crept up from her toes to her scalp. Her entire body was on fire, absolutely engulfed at the weight of the question.  _ Don’t allow your opponent to see any reaction from you.  _

That his skin, supple and scorching, was the first and last thing on her mind? That she sank into every inch he allowed her to have, that he allowed himself to indulge in, wishing that his natural scent could be etched into her own skin so she can hold it against her every night? That she would cry to the Maker that maybe, just one moonless night, he would give her the blessing of seeing what she can only assume was a handsome face, forlorn yet a glimmer of hope, but was only met with the glint of beskar and cloth. Of course, sick bastard. She foolishly let her answer bubble in her throat to pop with a small whimper, watching as his finger dragged from the dirt to the back of her bent knee. He widened his hand to rest on the back of her thigh. The fear ruptured and now soaked her, leaving her shaking and frozen.

“I would…” he reassured in his sick way, settling his weight on his palm. She searched the hut for anything to stop the slimy slug in his tracks.  _ The blaster.  _ She let him take his down to the curve of her calf, dancing along the folds of her knees and back to the curve of her thighs. Her heart sank at his repeated touch but she continued on, the growing anxiety leeching on her nerves. “I would  _ wreck  _ you if it was me.”

At the dip of his sentence her knees propelled forward towards the blaster. She managed to sit on his hand and dug the sole of her shoe into the bones of his palm. He growled as she scraped her knees against the dirt, rolling into the earth to a crawl, making sure to kick back dirt to his lowered face. She nearly landed face first into the pit of fire but she rolled to her side, still crawling with harsh kicks, her face pulling and digging. He grabbed her ankle and she yelped as she was yanked back, but she kept kicking. There was absolutely no way he’d have an advantage. She kicked harder, her body propelling a few inches, satisfied when her foot made contact with his jaw. He bellowed a deep roar, his teeth gnashing at the air. 

It was close, the cold metal grazed her strained fingertips but he kept an iron grip on her ankle. She kicked and kicked, desperate to make contact with any part of him. The head of the blaster stared at her mockingly, waiting patiently just for to get that one good hook with her pointer finger--

Her body jerked back with such force that it slammed her forehead on the corner of a lava stone. She shut her eyes in pain as well as in defeat, letting the deafening impact bloom in powerful pulsations between her eyes. She turned her head and let her eyes relax at the impending consequence. But his grip was no longer around her ankle. His weight no longer tied her down from the knees down.

The crackling sound of fire lulled against her senses. The howling of the wind came in next, licking her soaked face, then the scuffle of feet, then silence. Terrifying, pulsating, puttering into the air silence. One eye opened, the headache splitting her vision, and the other, fixating on a floating spirit of a man. The image teeters between bubbles of consciousness but one thing came in crystal clear. Something so recognizable, something that not even in the blizzards of Hoth or the dehydrated faze of the Er’kit could deprive her from.

Pauldrons that rounded out broad shoulders. Breast plates that restricted jagged breaths. The t shaped cut on the smooth helmet, thunder grey and warm from the flame’s reflection.

_ Mando. _

The man’s once handsome face was twisted in pain and strain, blooming stains of purple and deep scarlet across his face. His ankles twisted and kicked against Mando’s leg plates but he remained so still, like a marble statue, watching the man’s eyes roll to the back of his head.

“You know how easy it was to find you?” Mando tightened his grip around his throat at his lie, watching as saliva bubbled the corner of his move. He tilted his head. “You’re so  _ loud. _ ”

“Mando!” 

“I could hear you just boasting about it, just being so obnoxious.”

“Mando, please, wait--”

“Insulting me--”

The bend of Mando’s elbow tugged towards the ground. She clutched the piece of fabric like her life depended on it but it in its sick way, the sick sick way her heart worked, it was for her captor’s sake. Not out of pity or pain for him, merely just to…  _ get it over with.  _ His helmet snapped to her, eyes shaking in his skull, his words hanging in between his canines. Her lips shivered against each other from trying to conjugate the right words. The rush of movement made her sick with dizziness, the drowning feeling letting her sink to her knees.

“I don’t w-want to s-see it, p-please…” she was frigid, her skin sobbing from the impending panic that raked through her marrow. 

He ignored the man in his grasp. “Did he hurt you?”

“Ple-please Mando, I don’t want to see it… Din,  _ please. _ ”

His insides came undone at the sobering pitch of his name. The ever growing hole of guilt grew in his stomach, stemming roots in the heaviness of his breaths, ravaging what was left of his dignity. Out of all the times he tried to hide his doings this was the largest display of barbaric revenge: the ability to take a man’s life from his grasp. Behind the mask his face softened, as did his grip, but his lips stayed in a tight line. He said nothing as he moved his grasp to the collar of his tunic. 

He gulped in the air with great force that he choked on it, too weak to fight against the bounty hunter. She remained in the company of the flames, matching the ones inside of her, allowing to melt down the weak wax that held her together. Drop by drop, the panic spread through her bloodstream, numbing her movements in a static and jagged wavelength. She had no strength to react to her surroundings. She made no noise, no movement, not even a breath as the sharp sound of his amban rifle shook the insects awake. 


	3. Recover, Regain, Reconcile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I show you?” he practically begged, the modulator deepening his voice. “Can I show you how much you mean to me?”

The atmosphere was thick and tangible, veins of shock vibrating through each passive movement. Not even the child sturred, still asleep in its protective pod, nor did the  _ Razor Crest _ , lulling in space at almost a standstill. Mando tried to punch in any coordinate that came to mind but he was at a loss for the first time. No coherent thought ran through him, simply clips of his modulated voice in a raspy, harsh whisper and her glass eyes, frozen in her skull with languid pauses of her blinks, popped up. At times he would remember to flip the switch to unlock the latch or to raise the legs of the ship to prepare for departure but he didn’t remember how he got to the next point. It was peculiar to him that something that was so ingrained to him, simple muscle memory, required him to essentially use all of his senses. His partner, on the other hand, couldn’t even find a way to consciously switch between dry heaves and great gulps of air.

She had stayed in the same position that Mando had left her. Arms, stiff in a bent shape across her thighs, knees locked together, ankles twisted and opened palms that stayed flat and sprawled fingers. Her back was erected to its full potential and her neck remained forward, eyes afraid to close, mouth afraid to speak. Mando had given up begging for her to speak and only settled on her guttural responses. She was terrified to bring him back into existence. That somehow the universe would betray her and that pile of black ash would rise up once more and stalk them back to the  _ Razor Crest  _ and carry out what he wanted.

_ It came with the territory,  _ she thought, the base of her spine aching.

_ This is what is expected of this lifestyle,  _ she considered, letting her tongue grow heavy on her lower jaw.

_ I shouldn’t feel this way, I feel so weak,  _ her lungs burned from holding in her shaking breath.

She pondered on the thought that her weakness was a permanent reflection of her self worth. That of course she needed someone like the Mandalorian, a figure of steel domination, to babysit her. How foolish to think that those days upon days of training and frustration was going to make a difference. His words, so slick with venom, weighed in her belly like iron, her own vocabulary lost in the lingering intimidation he left behind.

And yet she felt guilt for the devil.

Mando remained in her right peripheral, adamant that she remained focused forward into the looming darkness. He hadn’t noticed her gaze shift towards the flames, dying into an orange flicker, that his once living body was floating into the foliage in flakes of charred matter. It rocked her to the core, leaving her gaping with a new wave of shock. He felt her body buckle and shake in his arm, his breath hitching in his tense chest.

“Hey, hey,” he urged, maintaining a tight grip. “We’re almost there, don’t do that.”

He didn’t mean for his voice to come out so sharp and cold but the adrenaline running through him, along with the looming sickness of her wellbeing, caused him to tighten his attitude. She simply stayed buckled against his hip so he raised her up with a tight tug, gripping her soaked tunic.

As the balls of her feet dragged across the dirt, skipping along gathered rocks, her mind held the weight of contempt. The man wasn’t worth the dirt in the groove of her shoes but did his death have to be so… cruel? So ferocious? Did he  _ have  _ to die? She was almost certain that a man of that caliber had a bounty on him for at least enough credits for fuel or supplies, wouldn’t it be worth a database search? For all that it’s worth, she thought, that was his blood on her hands.

Her throat filled with the words she wanted to tell Mando. That she will be fine, she will get over it, here let me grab the child, what planet are we going to next? Possibly Nevarro, you have such a large load of bounty cargo to unload. Here, let me set the navigation system to automatic so you can rest. Here, let me rest with you, let me hold you, heavy in beskar bliss, please tell me that I did alright, that it wasn’t my fault, that that man who was full of devilish intent was the true villain and I was simply trying to survive--

“You should take a shower.”

His voice remained in its sharpness. It was the exact opposite of what he wanted to sound like so he let his tense shoulders falter just an inch. His stare remained towards the window. She stayed motionless, her vision now in blurry bursts of artificial lights and stars. He turned his chair slowly to not stir her out of fear.

“Hey,” he murmured, tilting his head. “You’re in a state of shock. You need to take a cold shower and sleep.”

Her head slowly turned to him, eyes folded in exhaustion. Her mouth was still agape and chapped with dehydration. She gripped her knees, feeling the shiver of space crawl up her spine, suppressing it in her shaking elbow. Mando lets the awkward blanket of silence lay on them. This kind of behavior wasn’t new to him in his journey (having experienced it himself) so he patiently waited, watching each flex of her jaw and rise of her chest.

“Did I kill him?” she finally whispered, the words tumbling out through chattering teeth.

Mando stared at her, partially for being dumbfounded but also curious at her thought process. She shuffled her weight on her hips, relieving some tension in her shoulders, then continued.

“Did I? Did I do that?” she begged again, her teeth now audible through each syllable.

“You didn’t kill him.” he stated.

“I feel like I could’ve very well pulled the trigger, Din.”

At that point he was beginning to feel troubled. He was afraid to open his mouth and reveal any emotion beneath the modulated filter, once more letting the silence hold them closer. She grabbed her wrist with one hand and rubbed it sore, eyes focusing in and out from the watering film over them.

“I could’ve done something about it. I-I could’ve been  _ better. _ ” 

A shot of confidence ran up his knees as he rose up from his seat. He took careful steps, as if he was approaching an injured foal, leaving at least a foot of distance between them. He watched her jump slightly at his heavy feet on the floor, his heart sinking bit by bit. He didn’t want to seem like  _ him,  _ a monster behind armour. He kept his hands at his side, the ache of her skin back on the tips of his fingers.

“What would you have done?” he asked, watching her head shake vigorously. Droplets of tears whipped out of the corner of her eyes, the large pupils lowering to the floor.

“I just don’t know… I don’t know.” was all she could offer. 

But that wasn’t true. She knew, she absolutely knew what to do. The bruises on her calves and knees showed so, as did the aching tug of muscles. His voice, firmly pressing down on her to do better, to swing her arm tighter, to snap her knees faster. She searched for the answer in their prolonged gaze, so heavy with apprehension. She sighed and crossed her arms across her waist.

“I tried to go for his blaster. He let his guard down a bit when he began to… say things about me--”

“What things?” Din slipped out. He immediately sucked back his desperation. “Not important. Continue.”

She let his question lay in her throat before continuing. “I tried to let him think he had it his way. No emotion, right? Wait until his defense goes down, right? I tried. And I tried.”

His chest began to ache. What could he say to reassure the doubt? These kinds of doubt were kept buried inside of him and here he was, presented with it with open palms. He pondered on his words carefully.

“That’s it,” he slowly began, taking a few steps closer. “That’s what you did. You tried.”

“It wasn’t enough!” she exclaimed. He noticed the splatter of blood across her forehead and a damp patch in her hairline. He raised his hand with caution.

“It was enough, because I found you. You need to wash up, you have blood--”

“But what if you  _ didn’t? _ ” she wailed in a harsh whisper. “What if you never found me and I just  _ let him  _ destroy me? Just let him do w-whatever h-he--”

Her shakes were jerking her body forward in such a steep speed that Din had to lay his raised hand on her shoulder to prevent her from falling off the chair. Her spiral was digging into the floor, time meaning nothing but in flashes of starbursts and lightbulbs, sucking that iron panic that kept her stern in her seat. Din got on his knees and bought both hands to hers, switching between rubbing her arm and cheek.

“Hey hey, listen,” his words were stern yet tender. “Look at me? Look at me.”

She let a tear fall at the warped image of her disheveled figure in his helmet. She took notice of the dried flakes of blood but was more interested in his words and his gentle touch. 

“You did fine. You did what came to mind first and that’s instinct. That comes with training. How else do you learn? I teach you so if there is a time that I’m not around I know you will be safe. But remember this,” he left his hand on her cheek, sinking the heel of his palm under her jaw. Her hot skin comforted his chilled bones. “Regardless, I will  _ always  _ be there. Even if it takes me a bit to get there. I’m always either next to you or behind you. Never alone.”

She wanted to see what his eyes looked like beneath that helmet. Just to add that deeper connection, something deeper than the hushed touches in the comfort of the darkness. But this was enough to keep her from running away from the doubt that gathered in her chest. She leaned into his palm and gave him a weak nod, tasting her tears in the corners of her mouth.

“If anyone should be feeling guilty, it’s me.” he offered a weak chuckle. 

“Why do you say that?” she frowned.

“I shouldn’t have been so… so crass about it. I apologize. I know you don’t like seeing things like that.”

She took his hand on her face and held it there. His natural reaction was to tense up, refusing to find refuge in her, but he slowly melted. Time and time again that wall lowered, letting himself loosen in her soft gaze. She offered a pathetic smile, wincing from the added pressure at her temple.

“I know. He wasn’t the most pleasant person in the world.”

He let go of her face, letting his fingers glide and dance through stray hairs. He searched for any remaining shock in her, allowing herself to gather herself just a bit in her languid movements. 

“Breathe,  _ mesh’la,  _ breathe in sharp and let out slow,” he rubbed circles on her knees with his thumbs. She followed his direction, still shaking at the exercise, her head spinning from the control. “I need you to listen to what I’m going to ask of you, can you do that?”

She sighed a yes and he nodded back. “You’re going to take a shower. You’re going to lie down and rest. I’ll take care of the rest. Okay?”

Her aftershock wrestled in protest. “But the child--”

“Don’t worry about him. Listen. You come first, okay? Take a shower. Lie down. Rest.”

She knew better than to challenge the stark snap of his voice, pulled back like a rubberband, but what truly solidified his demand was the inherent softness that he adapted with her. It was gentle like a sliver glass, its edge still there to offer pressure, but smooth and glassy in its fragility. He tested her vibrating body with a firm squeeze of the knee. The muscle in her thigh was still tight so he remained still, reading her faltering eyes, slightly pink.

She watched as his helmet tipped towards the floor, his movement so careful. She followed his supposed gaze back up, coating her dry lips with her tongue. His hands lift and trail down her calf, as if there was a careful magnetic frequency between their touch, stopping at her boots. He looked up, his assumed stare looking past her. She considered this worse than his touch now that she was more aware of her surroundings so she let him regain himself in the intensity.

“Can I?” he asked, referencing her boots. Her words, still lost and hanging on a thread, made no effort to escape her lips so she only nodded in approval.

With the same force and delicacy in his voice he began to untie her muddy laces, lifting her calf with one hand and pulling off the boot with the other. When he took off boots he removed her socks and rolled up the rest of her pants, placing the clothing underneath her seat. 

She sat there with a radiating yet somber appearance. There were moments of sweet consideration that the Mandalorian blessed her with, like the time he offered to apply muscle relaxing cream to her arms after training (to which, without her knowledge, he spent the rest of the day with a semi permanent flush across his nose and cheeks) or finding him with her favorite green swamp rat across his chest because she kept him up all night and he wanted her to rest for at least a few more hours. To think, a man with a ledger as large as the galaxy and the presence of a phantom, hands so calloused and stained with the blood of Gods know how many men, was so…  _ domestic.  _ Strange in its want, strange in his hesitance and starved aura, yet so easily willing to let slip through leather fingers for her.

It was an unfortunate anomaly.

He pulled himself from the floor with a strained grunt, allowing her to shift from the movement. She now felt the coolness of space, seeping through the gaps of machinery, contrasting against the dampness of her toes. She grimaced at the sensation, finally settling in on the fact that Din was correct: she needed to shower.

The ache in her knees bloomed as she also pulled herself up, letting the strain rest before turning around to the door. He watched her leave, his self doubt sinking. Did he take it too far? Was he not more careful? However she stopped at the door, her back still to him, letting her shoulder blades roll with her grip on the corner of it.

“Thank you. I don’t know what else to say but, thank you.”

“That’s enough for me.”

The distance from the cockpit to the refresher seemed endless. Perhaps it was the rocking of her eyes, still sore and glossy, navigating through a soft darkness, or the switch between stiff movements and jellied limbs. Regardless she made it, letting the soft yellow glow bask on her body. She studied herself in the small mirror, jaw clenched with such tightness that her hairline pulled back and forth from the rolling teeth. Her hair was matted from the melted humidity and sweat, swirling in garnet blood, the dried flakes sticking to her temples. Her skin was a bit tanner, a bit more bruised around her forearms and shoulders, but it was her eyes that made the scene more tragic. So deep in her cranium, rings of exhaustion and pain combined with the baby pink of her sclera, lashes matted from her chaotic tears. 

There was a film of lamented sorrow that didn’t seem to scrub away, no matter how hard she scratched her skin with his soap. Finally the waves that seemed to threaten the shore rose up, crashed into her ribcage, letting the events that led up to her demise drown her underneath the head of the shower. Din heard the shuffle of her body and the wracking sobs escape her. He let it fester within him too, carefully trying to not let the ocean sink him too.

He was unsuccessful.

* * *

It was odd sitting in a quiet cockpit.

Odd in a sense that it was always a rarity. Odd that he acted like he didn’t spend most of his life in his personal solace, letting the ship or the creaks and groans of his bones speak to him. Even when it was him and the child it was comfortable, interrupted by his sporadic cries but otherwise peaceful. Sometimes her bed frame would creak and he had a jump of anticipation, however it was quickly subdued when his attuned senses reminded him that he wasn’t going to leave any time soon. At times she would use the refresher or eat the food he left at her door but left her to her own healing devices.

He switched on the ship’s security system. This isolated moon in between their original destination and Nevarro would be their rest stop for a bit to conserve fuel (which she protested for him to fill up on before leaving Rodia), but he was never too sure that his reconnaissance technology would be completely accurate. The child sat in her seat trying to reach for his lever’s ball. He leaned into the cockpit’s door, watching him strain in his seat, until snapping back and landing on his back.

“You just can’t use your magic to grab it?” Din joked to himself. 

The child looked up and whined, his claws flexing to grab the ball. He stopped and looked behind him, a smile gearing up on his small lips. He squealed and Din looked behind him. She stretched herself upwards, standing on the tips of her toes with a long groan. She opened her eyes and looked at the duo, a sleepy smile across her lips. She still appeared worn out but the color was coming back to her face in a peachy flush. There was a small halo of light above her head, highlighting the wrinkles in her tank top and cloth shorts, basking in streams of warmth in her hair. Din Djarin was dumbfounded once more that even in her tragedy she managed to look so  _ pretty.  _

“I’m sorry for sleeping so much,” she whispered, the rough and dry texture rubbing into his swollen chest. “You should’ve woken me up.”

“You needed to rest. At least you listened to me this time around.”

She stifled a chuckle, twirling a piece of her curl. “Oh? Sometimes you do know what you’re advising.”

“If sometimes in your vocabulary means all the time, then yes I do agree.”

He grinned. He missed this.

Her touch singed his pauldron, dragging the steel to drip in his clothed skin, the material itching underneath for the same result. She glided to him, past him, to pick up the child. She bounced him in her arms, placing her chin on top of his wrinkly head. She looked out the window of the ship, Nevarro’s blue-green glow standing out against the mass of stars.

“Where are we?” she asked. He walked towards her, arms folded across his chest.

“On an isolated moon just outside of Nevarro. We’ll head out soon once I calculate and see how much fuel we have left.”

She raised an eyebrow. He cocked his head to the side and sighed. “Don’t say it.”

“Say what?”

“What you’re about to say.”

“About?”

“You know what.”

“About the fuel? That  _ I  _ was right? Like  _ I  _ usually  _ am _ ?” 

“I told you not to say it.”

“Looks like you’re the one that has to listen to my advice once and awhile, Din.”

He rolled his head to look down at her smirking face. Her cheeks rounded out with air and she snorted, imagining the annoyance spreading across his face. She shuffled closer to him, resting her head against his arm. He remained like stone, hard and rounded, straightening his fingers.

“How’s your head?” he asked, still looking down at her.

“It’s tender but fine. I forgot to put bacta on after I got out of the shower.”

He turned around to his seat and grabbed the leather pouch, taking out a disposable shot of bacta liquid. She winced at the sight and sat down. “How does it look?”

He brushed her hairline back and parted, examining the wound. There were small scratches, red and throbbing, jagged in the pattern of the lava rocks that she fell on. A deeper cut laid on her temple and he took his thumb to feel the raised skin. She frowned at the sensation of his leather, skin irritated and warm, his hand resting in the tresses of her scalp. 

“It’s irritated but the bacta will help with the swelling. Hold still.”

He tapped her scalp to signal to lean into his palm. She focused on the sharp point of his helmet as his other hand massaged the liquid into each cut. She hissed at the coolness running down her forehead but he grunted, stopping at the biggest cut. 

“You’re almost done, you’re doing good.” he reassured, his tone honeyed with affection.

He held a bit of pressure on the bottom of her cut to catch the liquid, her eyes squeezing to add more pressure to subdue the ache. He took a wipe and removed any extra residue and a small flesh colored bandage to prevent any debris. His thumb lingered down to the apple of her cheek then her chin, pinching it between his forefinger. She fluttered her eyes open, still locked on the corner of his helmet.

“You done?” she prompted, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“You should be fine now. You did a good job.”

Her ears ring red at his praise, feeling childish yet warm. Her eyes trailed down to the window his gaze and gulped. His grip on her chin remained and behind the thick glass he watched her face warp from the stars outside, allowing enough light to highlight her cupid’s bow, the curve of her button nose and curled lashes, casting shadows underneath her glassy eyes. He cursed his helmet for that second, wishing he had better access to kiss her, that his eyes could deepen the wound he created in his chest that allowed her to stay, to remind him that he was human enough to deserve her presence. He loosened his grip finally, the back of his finger and knuckle grazing down her neck and stopping at the middle of her collarbones.

“If you ever leave this career behind you should consider becoming a nurse.” she murmured sweetly to him, breathing an awkward laugh.

“I’m not as good as you,” he cracked, his modulator failing to conceal his nerves. “Go eat something and go back to bed.”

* * *

While traveling to Coruscant, as he always tried to promise when he visited each planet, they had stumbled upon a market stand with makeshift toys and puzzles. She quipped at the time that these would be perfect for the child to hone on his concentration and cognitive skills, to which he scoffed.

“He’s a kid.”

“He’s a fifty year old kid, Mando.”

And maybe he was right at the time.  _ Again.  _ He paid attention to the toy for about five minutes until he was distracted by hovering ships, cooing at the sky in interest. She was defeated, of course, but laughed at the situation. She tucked it back in her shoulder bag, full of different purchases, settling on the heels of her feet.

“Maybe he is a kid. I’m keeping it though, it could be something fun to do to kill some time.”

He twirled said gift in his hand, a puzzle that required you to twist and pull at the uneven edges to create a perfect box without detaching any pieces or unlocking the ridges. It was difficult as he did it in between bursts of hyperspace or sleepless nights, but proved her point right at the same time. He felt like air watching the curved edge of the moon cut the stars and pitch black sky, the vast quietness of space making his body buzz. It wasn’t for his job he didn’t know if he’d ever see the galaxy at this capacity, his ego diminishing to a molecular level at the humbleness of space. It was this small sliver of scenery that was to be appreciated.

The cockpit’s door hissed open and she leaned against it for a minute to rub sleep out of her eyes. He remained still, as if to fool her that he was invisible, feeling the cock of her hip against the side of his chair.

“If I sleep anymore I think I’ll get sick of it!” she exclaimed, stretching her spine. Her hand gripped his seat and he cocked his head a bit to catch sight of her exposed hip. “Are you doing that puzzle?”

He looked at and shrugged his shoulder. “More like miserably failing at it. Don’t know why you thought the kid could do it.”

She snorted. “He’s pretty smart! Don’t discredit my baby rat this way!”

He returned the stifled laugh. “Oh? Your baby rat? You took it upon yourself to adopt him?”

“He’s always preferred me somehow. Might just take him into my own clan.”

Din oddly liked the sound of that.

“You’re awfully talkative lately. Is there something you’re hiding from, Mandalorian?”

He felt a veil of bashfulness cover over him. He had bouts of energy from here and there in conversation, the sound of his own voice shocking him from going on and on, but that was simply the effect she had on him. He reminded himself that he didn’t have to be ashamed of the loneliness he felt and can do better now.

He pondered on her question, leaning his head back. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

She blinked, her heart catching at her throat. “Oh Gods, I’m alright now--”

“Are you?”

It was her turn to toss her thoughts around in her head. She seemingly pushed the event to the back of her mind, hoping it would collect dust and cobwebs. It was harder to do so, her memory snapping back in fragments of licking flames, rusting copper of the barrel of the blaster, black flakes dancing in the still wind like snowflakes--

“I’m alright,” she began, gearing up her confidence. “It was just… shocking. I was already feeling a bit odd before it all went down and I guess having that happen to me made it worse. It all comes with the territory, I guess.”

“No,” Din snapped, rising from his seat. “Don’t think that that should be normal for you.”

She hesitated from his sudden irritation, waving her hands in protest. “No, of course not. That’s not what I meant.” 

She studied his body language, watching for a hint of relaxation. His shoulders rounded out so she continued. “What I meant was that I’m coming to terms with it. I chose to be here on this ship with you on the condition that  _ this  _ may happen. Thank the Maker that I am okay and that you were there. But I will be okay.”

The lingering trauma hung in between her words but she shoved them down into the deepest depths of the acid in her belly. She was partially lying to the desperate Mandalorian, just to not add anymore pressure to his already anxious lifestyle, but in that lie was the comforting truth that somewhere down the line she  _ will  _ be fine. It wouldn’t be at that moment, maybe not the next day or even in the next year, but the possibility of it kept her at bay. It kept her anticipating waking up, the sun of their next destination warming her skin in that very cockpit, and that blessed day that she will be okay. 

Din took small steps towards her, his hand itching for her. He was afraid to allow himself to indulge once more, that uncomfortable ache etched into his bones, but she reciprocated that ache by matching his steps so her heaving chest could connect with his with each rise. She took his wrists in her hands and leaned forward, letting them rest naturally at the curve of her spine. She finds the grooves of his armour in between her hands, slick and cold, laying her injured temple on the beskar. She found solace even in his stiff demeanor, the warmth of her sleepy body sinking. She found a sliver of cloth in between his hip and settled her fingers in it, earning a stuffed cough from the man.

She sighed and watched as her breath fogged up his suit. “You shouldn’t worry so much about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you.” he didn’t skip a beat in his praise. It flowed out of him like sweet water and he knew he had to continue before he’d regret it. “You’re always worrying me. You’re always… You…”

She was afraid to look up, to see that she wasn’t even holding him but just sleeping away in an intense hyper realistic dream. But a dream couldn’t mimic the way he fit into every bend, curve and juncture of her body, armour or not, the sweetness of his warmth enveloping her every time she snuck in a touch or leaned into it. A dream wouldn’t even begin to conjure his movement now, hands curving up from her hips to her ribcage, thumbs dancing along each groove. She leaned in and kissed the chin of his helmet, tongue heavy along the metal, feeling his fingers squeeze her frame.

“I, what?” she asked, curiosity heaving her lungs forward. He laced his hands into her hair, massaging the leather pads into her scalp, watching as her head pulled back. 

“Can I show you?” he practically begged, the modulator deepening his voice. “Can I show you how much you mean to me?”

He stepped her backwards, one hand remaining in her hair and one on her hip, towards his quarters. She struggled to keep up so she settled her bare feet on top of his boots, dwarfing her size that’s flushed up against his body. His door hissed and she was welcomed into the darkness, a looming sense of familiarity back into her senses. She knew he wanted it this way, what with his identity and all, however that didn’t prevent the panic that pooled at the base of her ankles. Somehow he sensed this and stopped at the base of his bed, the back of her knees knocking at the frame.

“We don’t have to do this,” he reassured, still massaging her scalp. “If this is all too much for you let me know.”

She shook her head, doubting he could see. “No, no. You’re here with me. I’ll be okay.”

_ Why are you so good to me? _

“Can you see me?” he breathed. 

She shook her head again. “I can’t see a thing. Not even in front of me.”

“Can I trust you?”

“That’s up to you, Din Djarin.”

The sound of his name, dripping in dulcet bless, made up his mind for him. He reached under his helmet and released it with a  _ hiss _ , noticing the back of his neck was damp with anticipation. He was left to his heightened devices, relying heavily on his touch now, to seek out the curve of her jaw. He laid his forehead on hers, tasting her nervous breaths on his lips, dipping down to capture her mouth in a fevered yet sweet kiss. She groaned into it, relieved at the familiar softness of it, allowing him to sneak in his tongue to find hers. At times his kiss would have a heavy pressure to it, as if he wanted to hide in the pillowed flesh, but this one dragged in and out with the slow moves of his tongue, exploring her mouth with timid intention.

She sank into his armour even more, welding pieces of bared flesh into the beskar, finding her hands in his hairline. His impossibly soft hair, quipped and curled, grounded her from the butterflies that pulled her up to the ceiling. He pushed her back softly, allowing her to adjust her length across the bed, resting his forehead on hers. Going back into the kiss, now its depth filled with a thick lustful intention, he ripped off both gloves. His hand rubbed up and down her bare arms, gripping from time to time at the flesh, then cupping underneath her chin. He pulled away once more to pepper kisses on her lips, slow and liquid, trailing down to her jawline, neck and jugular.

The hand underneath her chin trailed down her chest, upon the valleys of her breast, resting in between her navel and waistband of her shorts. It peeled back the tank top, smoothing the calloused skin against her delicate stomach, stopping at the under curve of her breast. Her breath is caught in her throat as he palmed one in his hand, knees knocking together to add pressure to her aching core, his rough thumb tracing her hardened nipple.

“Take off your armour,” she whispered into his mouth.

“Not until I make you feel good.”

The hands left her breast and ribcage to pull down her shorts. She raised her hips up to help him out letting it pool around her limp ankles. He leaves another kiss on her lips before dragging his down over the peaking breasts and skipping to her belly button. The coolness of the ship’s atmosphere played against her warmth, slick and tacky, her gut sinking from his slow tongue creating a trail down to her mound. He shoved himself in between her knees that sprawled shamelessly, allowing himself to get on his knees. He laid his head against the side of her right knee, wishing he could peak into the window of her earnest eyes, seeing if she was unraveling just as quick as he was.

He adjusted his crotch with a free hand while he kissed down to her inner thigh, stopping at the bend of her pelvis. He kept palming himself as he took one long, painfully slow drag of his tongue up her slit. She gasped and bit the inside of her tongue, knowingly anticipating his salacious act but surprised in the suspense of it.

It was a taste he could never get rid of. It lingered in the back of his throat, so weakfully heavy when he would think about it, the memory of him in the dead of night shamefully pumping himself in this same darkness conjuring a shiver up his spine. He dipped into her core, lapping up the gathering slick before rising back up to her clit. She almost cried out again as he took it in between his lips and sucked on it, switching back and forth between twirling it with his tongue and pursuing it against his lips.

The grip around his clothed cock and her shaking thigh tightened when she breathed out a remnant of his name, thickening the air with pungent arousal, so he sped up the process by taking the hand on his cock to push two fingers into her. Her hips rose when he gave her two, three quick pumps, mouth still latched onto her clit, his eyes closed and lost into her taste. It almost sent him lurching forward when he curled his fingers inside of her, finding that sponged spot in her that always sent her to tug at his hair, her sweet slick coating his fingers.

“Stars Din, you--” she stuttered out, whining at the end when he nodded up and down in agreement. 

He unlatched himself to groan, his cock painfully hard. “How can you sound so sweet and so soft saying my name like that, it’s unfair.”

She frowned her brows in pleasure, words sputtering out like spoke cards on a wheel. She managed to raise herself on her forearms, leaning her head back to rock in between her shoulders. She wanted to warn him that he was dangerously close but the way his mouth worked on her clit was silencing her words, letting him eat away at her dry throat, only producing a mess of slow and rocked moans when he latched himself back on her swollen clit.

He felt her walls tighten up in between his fingers so remained at grooving that same spot that made her mad. Her vision flashes in bursts of hot white, her moan stuttering out with a sweet and long tone. He waited to remove his fingers that were as tight as a vice from her walls, bringing it to his lips. He sucked on the flavor and an invisible heat spread across her chest from the sound. He kissed her again to allow her to taste herself on his tongue.

“You taste so good, so good. You know I think about it all the time?”

He pulled back to remove his armour, movements so quick that his beskar clinks and drops with a deep  _ thunk.  _ He pulled at his thermal clothing, bare body scorching.

“I think about it all the time. I can never get enough.”

She gaped at the feeling of his hard cock, dragging along her stomach, wet with his precum. He laid his knees in between her hips.

“I feel like I’ll go crazy if I ever go without this. Without you.”

Her hands searched for his cock and he swallowed a groan when she took it in her hand and pumped it. He removed her hand and kissed her knuckles.

“I need you so badly it hurts.”

Her voice pierced the air, so desperate and dripping with arousal. He picked up her hips to align himself but then stopped. She remained propped up, eyes searching the darkness.

“Lie down on your side.” he stated, his baritone dropping down a note. 

She did as she was told, placing her open palms underneath her temple. She squeezed her thighs together and rocked her hips, desperate for friction, listening in at the rocking bed frame and his even breaths. She jumped slightly at the feeling of him laying behind her, hand in between her thigh. He propped his head up his free hand and rested his lips in her hair, reaching down to cup it to the conch of her ear.

“Open your legs for me,  _ mesh’la _ .” he urged, resting dancing fingers on her mound. His pointer and middle finger sliding to find her clit, giving it encouraging strokes at her obedience.

“Good girl. You’re so good to me.”

He removed his hand from her clit and positioned his cock at her entrance, lining his hips and bent knees. He was slow to enter, soaking into the lava of her desire, his breathy moan dragging out into her hair. He felt the curve of cock throb inside of her, satisfied with the length before snapping his hips forward. His hand rested back on her mound while he found his groove, resting his chin on her head, brushing back damp hair from her eyes. 

The thought of her mouth, swollen and red, peeled open with strings of saliva, gave him extra force in his slow rhythm that rocked her forward. This new angle sank her heat onto him. His fingers found themselves back on her clit and she thanked the Maker once more at the delicious feeling between his talented hips and fingers. He kissed her ear and temple, carefully around the taste of the bacta liquid. She whimpered at the filthy sound of her wetness, his skin on hers, however consumed by the flames of their lust that it was just pure music to her ears. He dragged his tongue against her salty skin.

“You feel so tight,  _ fuck, _ ” the curse tumbling out his mouth. “You’re so b-beautiful a-and soft and  _ fuck  _ so--”

The winding coil of his orgasm tipped at the edge of his words, fingers working faster against her buzzing clit. She couldn’t believe she could muster up another orgasm but for him, his soft, beautiful woman, she would allow herself to flex her walls on his cock to milk out their demise together. She opened her mouth to lick her lips, biting on it when his thrusts became much more rapid. 

“Din, my Gods, I’m… so close…” she trailed off in the bubbling pressure from her clit. 

“I’ll never let it happen to you,” he groaned loudly, his thrusts speeding up to slam against her bottom. “I swear to the Maker I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

His voice was raucous yet melancholic. The pent of frustration and pain from his failure mixed with his intoxication of her slick warmth, taking her body closer to flush against his. She felt the sadness gather in her as well but overwhelmed mostly but his sweet praise.

“Din..” was all she could muster, feeling his lips tremble.

“I wouldn’t let it happen, not again, not again…” he clenched his teeth at his impending orgasm, letting out a struggle groan. “Do you need to cum, my sweet girl?”

She nodded against his lips in a silent agreement, her orgasm now washing over her in deep, hot waves. She snapped back and forth from his body, hips rolling in between his frenzied hand. He felt his shortly after, slightly angry and quick, removing his hand to hold her waist to snap himself deeper into her. Their bodies rock together in a secret melody, their damp skin decreasing their friction. He took large gulps, tasting her hair in between his pressured kisses. She reached a hand up to feel his face, smooth yet grooved with growing hair, curling her nails at the cut of his cheekbones.

“Din, I’m okay,” she reassured in his arms, basking in the comforting darkness. “I’m okay, I’m with you. I’m okay.”

* * *

“When you recoil your first back, make sure your feet are firmly planted and your hips are forward, so when you snap back it won’t knock you backwards. Again.”

She felt as if he did her a favor by parking outside Nevarro’s town to practice for a few hours but the embarrassment stained her skin with a deep wine color. He watched with his arms crossed and leg propped on the ship’s shell. The child watched her repeat the same motion, his head following the snap of her fist. Din shook his head and she huffed back a stray curl.

“What did I do wrong?” she breathed out, rolling her wrist.

He walked up to her, taking her elbow in his hand. “Pull back harder. Snap hard. Recoil hard. You need the force.”

She frowned at his direction. “I got the force, alright.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t see it.” he teased, cocking his head. She relaxed her stance and pretended to punch him.

“Oh but I do. I’ve been holding out on you. Don’t you know I’m a fighter?”

He leaned back, watching her walk towards him still punching. “Yeah, I can tell.”

“Remove that armour and I can show you how dangerous I can be!”

He chuckled and waved her away. “Prove it to me with the armour and we can talk about it.”

She laughed with her lips pulled back on her teeth, taking down her hair to retie up into a ponytail. He found it cute that she was trying hard to perfect her self defense but admired the effort. The sun coated her skin, damp with sweat, before glistening in her eyes. He found his reflection in them, warped in her iris, but also found a profound, ethereal glow to them. Beneath the beskar he found himself grinning stupidly, caught in her headlights, stepping back to the ship.

“Again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! Just my type of Mando story, a bit sad, a bit sexy, a bit happy haha. Clearly there's a bit more trust between the two in terms of seeing his identity, which I like of course!
> 
> Once again I wrote this dead tired so if there are glaring mistakes PLEASE let me know!! Thank you y'all as always, I do appreciate every form of love on this series (:


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